Normal is a Relative Concept
by pygmypuff8
Summary: Ollivander struggles with his guilt, undeserved as it is.


**Just a piece set somewhere in the First Wizarding War. I know there is no mention of Ollivander ever marrying or having children, and I go and look in harrypotterwiki, but somehow I can't imagine him not having anyone. Also, I can't imagine that this thought didn't occur to him from time to time, and I can just imagine what it must have done to him, especially when he saw the headlines in the papers.**

**This is for the Hunger Games Competition on HPFC, using the prompts: fervid, mournful, Ollivander (yes, that is how you spell his name, I checked), "He is going to die, and it is all my fault", Hurt/Comfort genre.**

**For all my readers reading Curiosity killed the cat, I do have a chapter ready and am merely waiting to hear back from my beta, who is very busy at the moment, so I don't want to rush her and I refuse to publish a chapter unbetaed, (except this, because it's written on short notice, and I really can't be bothered to go hunting for someone to beta this). So, the chapter is coming, just please be patient! **

**Without further ado, enjoy, and please review.**

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

**O.o.O.o.O.o.O**

Garrick Ollivander stared at the paper in his hands, a decidedly mournful expression on his face. After reading the piece through, twice, he threw the paper aside with an exclamation of disgust, after which he placed his head in his hands.

Disturbed by the sharp rustle of pages being thrown aside, the young girl across from him looked up from her breakfast with a mildly irritated look on her face. Seeing her grandfather lowering his head into his hands however, her face softened. She stood up and made her way over to her grandfather, stopping next to him and placing her hands on his head, asking, her voice decidedly soft and sympathetic, "What is it grandfather? What's the matter? Are you having another headache?" He had been plagued by awful headaches recently, brought on, he had no doubt, by increasing stress and worry.

He merely shook his head and gestured toward the discarded newspaper. Picking it up, the girl saw the gruesome headline, proclaiming: _**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Death Eaters blows up bridge!**_** 50 people killed and numerous injured.** The article went on to explain what exactly You-Know-Who had done this time, and though the girl shuddered in disgust and repulsion, horrified at what she was reading and seeing, she failed to see why it had made her grandfather so sorrowful. Though it was horrible, tidings like these came in every day, and, shockingly, you got used to it, after a while.

"It's my fault, you know."

The girl looked up at her grandfather, shaking her head and obviously not understanding.

"It is. If I'd never sold him his wand, never given him that powerful tool, this never would have happened. People are going to die, and it's all my fault." Ollivander said this with such self-loathing and pain that before the girl knew how it had happened, she had flown across the room, and her arms were wrapped around her grandfather's head, shaking her head.

"No, don't be silly grandfather. You couldn't have known. There was no way you could possibly have known, so stop being silly and blaming yourself!" Her voice had started out soothing and sweet, but at the end she couldn't help herself, and she was scolding him fervidly, her adolescent voice ringing loud and clear.

Ollivander, while nearly suffocating under his granddaughter's grip, only laughed brokenly, remembering who he was talking to and that it really wasn't proper to be loading all his worries onto his barely fourteen year old granddaughter's shoulders.

So, though he still felt an enormous amount of guilt tugging at him, (although he knew it was silly and there was really nothing he could have done, no way he could have known, just as his granddaughter said) he merely smiled and nodded, and his granddaughter looked relieved, returning to her breakfast. And if his smile was about as sincere as a fake Galleon, and his nod held about as much conviction as a kitten hissing at you, they both pretended it was alright, and that everything was back to normal.

After all, normal was a relative concept these days, and who's to say what's true and what's not?


End file.
